


the Constellation on your Skin

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Getting Together, HYDRA Husbands, Jack Speaks Broken English, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: A collection of moments between NHL hockey players Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins.[Based in the "Falling For You in Any Language" universe.]





	the Constellation on your Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarSpangledBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/gifts), [Neutralchaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/gifts), [Toggs1313](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toggs1313/gifts), [Rancid_Rat6186](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rancid_Rat6186/gifts), [SplinterCell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinterCell/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Falling For You in Any Language](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993728) by [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999). 



> I was going to write a birthday thank you note but I found I couldn't express myself properly so instead I wrote something about two dorks who we all have a mutual affection for. I hope this is okay instead :) 
> 
> Just a heads up, because I write Jack as being Polish and joining the NHL straight from Europe, he'll have broken English. I don't know if that's a thing people hate or what but yeah.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock knew there were other things in life besides hockey, but it's what's most important to him. That is until the first time he lays eyes on Jack Rollins.

Brock can remember it like it was yesterday. The way when kids his age were playing and experimenting with kisses, he was too busy sailing down the ice with a stick in hand concentrating on getting that perfect shot. At the back of his mind something nagged, knew there was something else besides what he was obsessing over but every time he gave it a chance to appear nothing came. So eventually he gave up and let hockey consume him entirely.

*****

All through high school his friends, the few he had, talk about relationships and issues with home life or siblings, grades and college. Brock just thinks about the next time he can get on the ice, skating across the rink and letting nothing else get inside his head. He wanted to breathe in the cool air, take in the smell of it and only listen to the glide of his skates.

He remembers the moments when he’s alone and taking a breather, he would let all the inane chatter from various conversations come sinking into his head. He especially remembers the ones where good friends worried about having a date when all he worried about was the upcoming game. He wondered if one day that would all change and if so, when?

*****

When he’s older and it’s his first year playing professionally in the NHL, the team he’s with is in a little bit of a slump and they have a terrible season. Instead of letting it get to him, it only drives him to do better and want to help make them work as a unit again, to get their collective heads outta their asses too so to speak. By the time the Entry Drafts are due to happen, he’s taken some downtime to study the fresh faced North American and International players as just something to do since they’ve been eliminated from the playoffs anyway.

He knows he’s too young and new himself to give his opinions to the coach and higher ups but Brock almost can’t look away when he loads up the new batch of interviews and hockey videos just to see the most amazing skater he’s ever seen. Translated Russian and Polish interviews say he’s the next big thing in hockey and his plays speak for themselves, Brock can’t take his eyes off his handling and moves.

_His moves._ It’s like he can read opponents before they engage him, weaving in and out and _around_ them with sharp turns of his body and a dancer’s ease to it, bouncing pucks off his stick or taking hard snipes off in the distance just near the center line barely grazing a jersey or someone’s body block. He’s deceptively graceful even with his long limbs and unrelenting strength, tall and intimidating, highlights also showing how much of a brawler he was. 

Brock’s mouth goes dry and he feels a warmth burning in the center of his belly, he’s never felt like this about anyone because he’s only felt like this about hockey. He’s captivated before he even realizes it and he’s also terrified because if they don’t pick him in the draft, Brock doesn’t know what he could do to meet this prospect because all he wants to do is skate with him.

*****

Russian players that knew him call him Pacha, like it’s a nickname because they refuse to use his English name since they’re some level of snob over it, or so Brock thinks. The media refers to him as Jack Rollins, he introduces himself as so when Brock watches him meet their other teammates and higher ups. He was presented as one of the top three selections out of thirty one players in the draft, Brock forgets what exactly he promised to sacrifice the second his team chooses the guy. He forgets everything actually, for a second he even forgets hockey because he keeps remembering how no other human being has made him feel the way Jack does.

Brock has sweaty palms and his shirt collar is too stiff. Jack has an intense stare but it’s coupled with a boyish grin and a scar on the right side of his face that doesn’t seem so intimidating when he’s smiling and seems to suit him perfectly. He’s too nervous to go shake his hand and welcome him to the team like everyone else is.

Jack has Barnes at his side translating as he’s being introduced over and over by a train of people that never seems to end, his smile only falters when he doesn’t understand what’s being said and cocks his head towards his friend for help. He can barely understand English but he’s happy, Brock can see it in his eyes.

Instead Brock feels that weird itch and backs off and away, needing his space. He mingles by the bar with other players from various teams just shooting the shit and talking about this or that. He can drown a lot of it out and still look like he’s listening, at least for a little while until there’s too much focus on him for his input. He loses track of Rollins and most of his own people quickly enough, everyone probably mixing around like he is and he decides that there’s always tomorrow he could meet the guy.

He’s in one of the corridors a few minutes after he’s had enough of packed bodies making the air too warm. Brock has moments where crowds aren’t his thing. As a hockey player, it’s rather _funny_ to say the least. It’s not so bad though, he plays while drowning out all the shouting and screaming, he only focuses on the game and the game alone. He works best that way, he tries to do media but he skirts most of it and he’s excused because he’s the _new guy_. He knows once the new season starts he can’t use it anymore. Fans don’t really know him that well so he can get away with having a decent time out at the bar or something but parties like this with big name people and media and _everything_. He needs a breather.

Brock’s ducking into an empty press room, all the attention swirling around new players signed and ready for the new season with their new teams, no one will miss him. His tie is off before he even closes the door and he’s undoing the top buttons of his dress shirt when a throat clears and he turns to find he’s not alone but with Jack seated on one of the benches and peering up at him.

He freezes a second before really looking at him and picks up the same tired expression he probably has on his face, slipping his tie into his jacket pocket as he smirks in mutual understanding when Jack realizes the same thing. He sits across from him and rests his arms on his thighs before sucking up all the nervousness he had and swallows it down as a hand came out.

“Brock Rumlow.”

Jack peers at it, swallowing and mouth open a little. At first he wonders if Rollins’ even understands until he watches his hand suddenly come forward to take his, large and warm as he grins, “I know this. Top ten entry last year, very good. I watch you play.” 

Brock feels like he swallowed his tongue, lost in bright olive green eyes as he’s gripping Jack’s hand and failing all ability to say a single word.

“I..you too.” He finally blurts out.

It’s stupid and dumb but it makes Jack smile again and Brock feels like he’s just won the Cup.

*****

It’s unusually crowded for a Thursday night but a win’s a win and the guys want to party. They all have an unofficial club they all enjoy, well those of them that do go, and their first game of the season is always a great excuse to knock back a few.

He’s at the entrance, a small crowd ahead of him and he turns back to see Barnes jogging towards him with a wave of his hand.

“It’s fuckin’ busy tonight, you sure we’re goin’ to all meet here?”

“Yeah,” Bucky raises his phone. “Some of the guys are inside, they got us a table already.”

Brock nods as he looks around for any others before they join the crowd going in, just barely catching Jack at the corner of the building looking confused at his phone. He looks like how they all usually do before and after a game, freshly showered and wearing a neatly pressed black suit except when Rollins does it, he looks outright dangerous.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Barnes murmurs in his ear before he’s pressing an arm against Brock’s shoulder and cupping his mouth, “Yo Rollins! Over here!” 

Jack looks up in surprise, his hand behind his head in apology as he approaches, “You guys say meet here but not sure if here is _here_. Still new in big city.” 

Bucky grins wider, “Well you should talk to ol’ Rumlow here, he’d be happy to show you around.”

Even though Brock wants to give Barnes a dirty look, he doesn’t in case Jack takes it the wrong way so instead he shrugs casually, “I could, if ya got time.”

“Plenty time when not play hockey, it date.”

Brock could feel the moment his ears go red, huffing out a sigh as he chuckles and nods, shoving Bucky hard in the back as he corrals them into the club, “Sure.” 

They manage to easily find their group inside where they usually were and Brock tries not to feel a little deflated when Jack seems to pick out the seat the farthest away from him. Soon enough though beers are being offered their way and he forgets about it completely when Odinson shows up alongside Wilson with a few stragglers from the other team and he’s amused because one of them is Steve Rogers, the sole guy in the world Barnes goes stupid over. It’s the only time he can freely make fun of Barnes without backlash, since he’s too busy making heart eyes and Rogers is too busy making them back. 

Reality only comes back to him when it’s his turn to get the round and he notices Rollins is gone. As he heads to get more beer, he finally spies the guy talking to some ladies who are laying it on thick and Brock can’t help roll his eyes, watching as he signs his signature just above a pair of breasts barely holding them back in a low cut top and the girl’s friend is taking pictures. All Rollins can do is smile wide, throwing his arm around when they ask for one final picture side by side, backs turned so Brock sees when the fan rests her hand not so discreetly on Jack’s butt. He turns back when two jugs of beer are parked his way and all he can do is take them back to the table and try not to let his head get the best of him.

Brock spends the rest of the night fending off drunk teammates who want to dance like idiots, especially when there’s fans around encouraging them to. The other half of the time he’s trying not join conversation people are trying to push on him. Eventually he moves out of there when he turns to the side of the booth just to see Bucky and Steve start playing touchy feely games in the more darker area of their private seating, catching the glint of light bouncing off Bucky’s wristwatch while his hand slides up a thigh and Brock gets out of there as quickly as he can.

He sits at the bar thinking about calling it a night and taking off for the evening when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Hi,” Jack greets as he slides into the seat beside him, his hair a little fluffy and ruffled like someone put their hands through it. He’s lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way and a couple of the buttons are undone on his shirt, Brock can’t help staring at his neck, especially when he swallows. “I buy you drink?”

Brock can’t help the immediate smirk cross his lips, “You know we’re on the same team right? Or are you too drunk to notice who you’re talkin’ to?”

Waving him off, Rollins smiles slowly, “I’m know it Rumlow, I see you sit here like you wait for someone to buy you drink. So I come offer drink.”

He doesn’t know what to say about that, smiling wider as he watches Rollins tilt his head to one side, face glowing and sweat misting across his forehead. Brock wants the drink with him, wants a lot of things with him and it’s way too hard to let the joke be over and let him be on his way.

“You really wanna buy me a drink, Rawls?” 

Jack blinks at that, features blank for a moment before he nods, gesturing to a bartender to get them some beers never once looking away from him. Brock can’t help the way something in his chest blooms over it.

When their beers arrive, Brock gets curious about Jack’s intentions, “Do you buy all your teammates beers when they sit alone at the bar?”

“No, just you. First time I see someone leave group and sit by selves.”

And suddenly Brock’s not sure what to make of that so he turns to his beer and drinks as much of it down as fast as he can. From the corner of his eye he sees the same girls spying Rollins and trying to discreetly get his attention though Jack doesn’t seem much like he notices, drinking his own beer and watching the crowd on the dance floor.

He elbows him, “Your fans are tryin’ to get your attention.”

Jack doesn’t look their way but turns just enough so that green eyes are studying his face, “If it girls, I tired of talking to them. Want to sit with friend.”

Brock feels a little forward, “And what if I was a fan?”

“ _Are_ you a fan?”

“Might be.”

Jack chuckles at that, dropping his head before his beer like he’s a little shy, giving his head a shake, “You are very full of surprises.” 

It only encourages Brock, “So you came to sit with a friend or maybe you came to sit beside a guy by himself at the bar, or maybe I’m just a fan. Would any of those get ya off your ass to come dance with me?”

He actually dislikes dancing but if it makes Rollins move, he’s willing to sacrifice himself for it.

Pressing his lips together as he nods, Jack raises the bottle to finish it off, “Yes, I dance.”

“What’s stoppin' ya from goin' right now then?” Brock wonders out feeling uninhibited, a little too drunk maybe, a little too bold. 

He tilts his head towards the dance floor and rummages through his pockets for a few bills tossing them onto the bar. He doesn’t look for Jack as he winds around the crowds of people making his way through until he’s where he wants to be, a small space for him to dance whether he gets Rollins into his snare or not. To his mild surprise, he turns to see Jack has followed him and he's grinning wide, he smiles back in return the moment they’re standing before each other again and Brock swears, there’s _something_ happening between them.

It seems like they both struggle to loosen up despite the amount of people around them, a sea of bodies swallowing them whole that pay no attention and it’s nice that it’s only Jack that he’s making a fool of himself in front of. The alcohol seems to quickly toss out inhibitions and soon he’s watching Rollins nod to the music and enjoy himself, shedding the facade he usually wears when he’s on the ice of a menacing force. Here he’s almost goofy, limbs too long and a stupid grin across his flushed face but he’s having fun and it shows.

Rollins watches him a few seconds, hands outwards near Brock’s sides a little but not touching, he leans in close by his ear, “Should take you to get dance lessons, yes?” 

“Yer an asshole!” Brock shouts back over the music but he’s laughing, they both are.

They keep dancing together, hands off but close. Occasionally they’re greeted by a teammate or three taking a few seconds to join them with some outlandish dance moves only drunks seem to possess before they move on through the crowd again. Soon the floor is filled by too many people, body heat making it a sweltering sauna around them. At some point Jack grabs him by the hip and pulls him against his tall frame when a group push their way through, drinks held up high and spilling over heads at every jostle. Brock takes the moment to ogle and could definitely get used to being this close to Rollins, dancing in his arms and soaking in the heat from large hands at his back. 

He hesitates to touch Jack but rests a hand at his side, watching his face just for good measure but he doesn’t seem to mind only grinning wider at him and they’re so close he could feel his breath brushing along his face. Soon though Jack leans closer, lips almost brushing against his ear and Brock can’t help lifting his hand off his side and against his sweaty neck out of impulse alone.

“Too hot, maybe we get out?” 

Disappointed at the prospect but seeing how soaked through the top of Jack’s shirt is, Brock nods to him, “Sure.”

They manage to pull themselves out of there and get away from the crowd. Some of the guys dancing around on a small stage and having people cheer for them, others at the bar while some still sat at their table. Brock catches Sam flipping his keys and approaching them with a grin, Brock’s suit jacket in hand as well as Jack’s.

“Hey guys, I’m heading out. Rollins are you staying or do you need a ride? I only had one beer an hour ago, promise. The rest of the time I was busy wrangling others so if you want to get dropped off..”

“Yes,” Jack lets out, taking his coat, “Should go sleep, morning practice.” 

Wilson gives them a look, smiling as he nods and Brock doesn’t miss any of it, “Sure thing big guy, I’ll be waiting for you outside. See ya in the morning Rumlow.” 

Waving goodbye, he turns to see Rollins staring at him and he should say it to Jack too though he can’t find the effort to, not that Jack is either. Eventually he watches as he leans in and Brock instinctively licks his lips only to feel like an idiot when arms wrap around him in a goodnight embrace instead of what he was thinking was going to happen.

“Bye.” Jack lets out with a small smile.

“See ya tomorrow.” Brock replies as casually as he can, he means it as a team thing but he can’t help feeling like there’s some sort of question in his statement as well.

“Yes, tomorrow.” Jack confirms, pausing a moment and staring at him eventually giving him another partial smile before breaking away to leave with Wilson.

Brock watches his back as he goes for as long as he can, he wants to punch himself.

*****

They’re in the playoffs and after such a terrible season last year Brock can’t believe it just like everyone else. There’s champagne and yelling, sloppy congratulatory cheek kisses and hugs. There’s music blasting and half naked men dancing around and laughing. They still have a long way to go but they’re ready to fight for it, with one foot barely in they know they need to be. Tonight though, it’s a celebration.

It’s when he ducks away from all the partying that he’s suddenly backed up against the wall in the dark hallway just around the corner not too far away from all the muffled noises of rejoicing. Jack’s crowding him in and they’d be able to hear if someone opened the door from the locker room, so he himself must have followed him out the moment he left. Rollins’ fingers dig into his jersey, tugging a little and twisting in, eyes bright and glassy, grinning wide. He smells like beer and sweat laced with the medicinal scent of muscle ointment. Brock can only look up at him, pliant and obedient.

There’s a flicker of hesitation when Jack’s gaze drops to his mouth and like an invitation Brock licks his lips nervously knowing Rollins’ could feel the way his heart was racing beneath his bruised knuckles. 

Brock’s never had Jack so close to him aside from on the ice when one of them score a goal, one has to pull the other away from a fight or sitting together on the bench. Just that one time they danced but never repeated itself. He’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline from their game win or his brushed back feelings coming into full focus but whatever it is makes Brock want do so something about it. He leans up, nose brushing along Jack’s as his lips just graze off one side of his mouth. It’s barely anything really, they could both brush it off as a mistimed hug but it’s careful and aware enough to be known as something Brock wants.

Jack shudders to it, eyes closing a long second before he opens them and stares, dropping his head forward and Brock all but moans when he’s kissed. It isn’t _careful_ or even timid, but a sincere response from a straightforward man. Jack takes a second to make sure they both want this before he does it again and this time it’s hot and hungry, a little too eager with want and desire but it’s everything Brock needs, his hands moving up and one tangles around the collar Rollins’ jersey while he holds the back of his neck with the other, their heads tilting just so to angle and fit with each other just perfectly. 

He doesn’t care anymore if this is all he gets, he decides. He’s prepared to take anything Jack will give him.

*****

Five days later they’re up against a new team and one guy in particular on it is a real piece of work. Ward’s a dirty player that gets chips on his shoulders, massive ones and Brock knows the guy has his number the moment Grant’s put into the box for elbowing him. The rest of the night he seems to go out of his way to hit him with disguised hooks and slashes like he was the one who sent him there.

He doesn’t even see the check when it comes from the side, all he feels is the blinding pain of a stick snapping hard against his ribs as he flies sideways into the boards. He immediately pushes up on his skates to straighten only to feel his knees buckle under him and he falls onto one, arm weakly hooked over the wall. He barely hears a couple shouts of his name from teammates, his head keeping itself bowed over the ice and the roaring around him is coming out hollowed like he’s in a tunnel.

One of the trainers come into his view while the screaming crowd suddenly goes louder for some reason, a hand gingerly pressing under his chin to tilt it upwards and it’s then past him does he see Jack and Grant exchanging blows, the latter quickly realizing how unmatched he is by size _and_ strength and begins doubling over in hopes to get the referees to stop the onslaught of punches as his jersey gets pulled partially off over his head in the frenzy and there’s blood dripping onto the ice.

The announcers are talking back and forth excitedly while the replays on the jumbo screens are showing how he was bulldozed into the boards after stealing the puck and the camera cuts to a wider shot of the ice as Jack’s posture shifts right after. Brock warily watches as Rollins drops his stick before cutting across the ice directly for Ward purposefully skating into him to shove him down, Grant’s legs shooting comically outwards from the force of it. Jack’s yelling something fierce before the other can even get their bearings straight, gloved hands jabbing and yelling at him to get up and fight. Bits of gear quickly fly off between the both of them and meaty fists go for no mercy, Brock is transfixed a little before the team trainer can get his attention again.

He’s checked much more properly once he’s in medical and all his gear is stripped off for a better examination. His ribs are a little bruised but nothing an ice pack and some rest can’t fix. There’s only a few minutes left on the clock so it’s suggested he wait it out with an ice pack before the trainer leaves him sitting on one of the sick beds in just his compression shorts. 

A few minutes pass as he idly watches them drag out the last five minutes with a three point lead when Jack is poking his head inside, taking a second before fully entering the room, “Brock..okay?”

Jack’s voice is small and careful, like he didn’t just turn Ward’s face into sausage filling. He has a cut across the bridge of his nose that’s cleaned up and the corner of his bottom lip looks a little torn. When he clasps his hands together his knuckles are a deep dark red that are already bruising and it makes Brock smile at him.

“M’fine, are _you_ fine? Caught the way you broke his face.”

Jack scoffed, seesawing his hand back and forth like that was a trivial thing, “He deserve, not allowed to hurt you.”

This pique’s his interest. They haven’t been able to talk about anything after the kiss, press and practice mostly getting in the way, “He isn’t?”

Something shifts in Jack’s features, eyes going hard and he shakes his head, more serious about it as he cups Brock’s chin, “No one allowed. Hit you, I come and hit them.”

Brock grins, “Even from the bench? You’ll get us into shit for that you know.”

“Want I stop?”

He breaks out in a chuckle, “Nah, just tellin' ya the facts.”

They stare at each other under the dim fluorescent lights overhead and for once Brock doesn’t feel the need to go on an offensive about not needing to be saved. It’s _different_ around Jack and instead he pulls him closer, pressing his forehead against the other’s jersey like there’s some kind of relief slipping away from him. 

It only gets better when Jack cups the back of his head and holds him there delicately, the pads of his fingertips brushing along his damp scalp. It makes Brock wonder if Jack went through a similar life, wondering and waiting for when he would think about anything or _anyone_ else but hockey. 

*****

Brock doesn’t necessarily remember how they ended up in bed like this. He’s sure he’s responsible for more than 75% of the intent to get him there because he’s been rather clear during the small minor chances he does get; whether it's looks or touches that could be misinterpreted by others as absent. He lingers beside him a bit longer than he should and Jack seems to do the same since that one fateful night after their push into the playoffs. It also doesn't help after that Ward incident and being hyper aware of how Jack keeps an eye on him without being obtrusive and they've began to mesh together in plays. Maybe Brock lets himself be caught checking Jack out in the shower when they're alone in it and maybe he preens a little and gives Jack his best sides when the guy does the same thing. Also there may have been alcohol involved (just barely though) and the not yet announced but already confirmed position to team captain he's accepted as a reason to push for something more and celebrate. 

Everyone wanted to take him out but it was Jack he wanted to spend the night with.

His face buries into the covers, fingers grasping tight around bunched sheets and biting into his pillow. He goes easy like this, laid out on his belly and the weight of Jack draped over him as he fucks him tortuously slow and lazy. With each smooth roll of hips all Brock can do is exhale a muffled grunt as he shuts his eyes tighter and his knuckles go white.

Jack drags his mouth along the edge of his shoulder, slurring a string of Polish and English as if it’s its own language in itself, Brock only barely picking up bits and pieces of him mumbling about how good he feels around his dick and that he’s being so good for him. It makes his cheeks more inflamed than they previously were, already so keen from Jack’s ragged breathing so close to his ear. Jack wraps an arm around his chest, palm sliding across Brock’s throat and using gentle force to move his head up and back. Brock shudders to the light pressure of fingertips, swallowing against them. 

“Jack.” He practically begs out, mouth falling open to harsh pants.

Brock can feel himself trembling under the bulk of Jack’s weight, ass pressing back as thrusts begin to move in a shallower pace and Jack gives him what he needs by filling him deeper with every push. He whimpers to the change of speed, cock stretching and keeping him open as Brock goes delirious with the need for every inch of him to stay like this forever. His fingers tug and pull at fisted sheets, he doesn’t know what to do but he tries to hold on all the same.

“Jackie,” He groans out and wonders if he’s dying, Jack so big and _thick_ , he wants him to keep fucking him everyday in any way he wants, taking it slow and going in deep or pushing him down and taking him rough and fast. As long as Jack is inside of him, he _wants_. So open and good for it, welcoming the burning stretch that he already realizes only Jack can give him.

Jack lets out a choked noise when Brock tenses his thighs and clenches around him, fingers reactively tighten at his throat just barely but enough that it makes him whine for more. It’s when he turns his head, sliding a hand down into the mattress to get a little bit of leverage, that he catches them in the mirror at the side that he sees the way they look together. The first thing he catches is how dazed he looks, intoxicated by it, needy for anything he’s given. Jack’s biceps looking massive when tight and bunched the way they’re bracketing and positioned over him, ass flexing with every slide of his cock. His own dick was pressed beneath their bodies, barely enough friction against the mattress to get him even close to reaching that edge but he wanted to, so badly.

“More,” Brock manages to let out as he pushes himself up onto his knees slowly, a small sound slipping away from him as Jack sinks in deeper. It’s _so good_ and his mouth goes dry when he startles to a hand slapping his ass hard, the same hand grabbing at the meat of him to make the red bloom as he thrusts into him again.

“Bossy.”

“You like bossy.” Brock snipes back, barely able to stop himself from slurring his words.

Above him Jack doesn’t respond, instead he only grunts out as that hand grips tight at his hip. He manages only a few more thrusts as he rambles out something Brock doesn’t understand, something he wants to ask him about later but won't, something with a glimmer of sweetness, feeling him nosing the shell of his ear after it and Jack cums with a low groan. Brock settles just enough to feel the tremble carrying through against his skin, taking in the last few lazy drags of Jack heavy inside of him, smiling to himself at the feeling of his cum leaking a bit down his inner thigh.

Jack takes his time pulling out, slow and careful, a hum of contentment arising from his throat as he presses a soft kiss to Brock's cheek and he can't help feeling his heart beat faster than it already is. He doesn’t realize it’s a partial distraction until two fingers sink back inside of him to replace the empty feeling trying to make its way through. It makes him whimper, low and feeble as he arches his back and pushes his hips, grinding down against the mattress. Jack stays pressed to his Brock’s left side, draping his thigh over as his fingers work into him.

When Brock tilts his head to Jack’s side, they meet each other’s gaze as he tries to control the harsh heavy breathing while fingers fuck slow and deep into him, Jack murmuring something low before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Brock drops his head forward again, hips working his cock against the sheets at the same time pushing back into those thick, long fingers Jack uses inside of him. They’re precise, twisting and curving in him just so, getting to the one place that lights sparks behind Brock’s eyes.

“ _My Captain_ ,” Jack’s tired voice is heavy with accent, mouth and nose dragging over Brock’s shoulder. It shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did, a shudder running through Brock’s entire body as he shakily brought his eyes back to obediently meet his. Jack smiles, like when he’s drunk. It’s fond and _happy_ , like there’s nowhere else he wants to be, “Ah. You like, good to know. You going to take your time?”

Jack massages around his swollen rim, another kiss pressed into his shoulder and Brock stretches a little for more. He feels Rollins’ thumb traveling down to rub at his perineum while fingers are merciless as they press against Brock’s prostate and it just becomes too much. It’s overwhelming and hot, a groan ripping out of him that’s weak and almost breathless, cumming with the sensation of being punched to the chest. Jack continues to slowly work his fingers, voice soft and affectionate in his ear as he nuzzles his lips along the shell of it, working him through the aftershocks and easing him down.

Brock shakily breathes a few seconds, limbs weak and trembling before he feebly allows himself to collapse against the sheets. A few seconds pass along and he feels Jack carefully withdraw, pulling his hand away. He shifts around above him and Brock isn’t too concerned about what he’s doing, the sound of a clothing falling away before a warm hand gently strokes him from the nape of his neck and then down along to the curve of his back. It lulls Brock away, to some other realm, body already boneless and tired, Jack’s large hand so soothingly warm. 

Blindly he reaches for it with the hand farthest from Rollins, tugging him aimlessly, too sluggish to be more pointed about it. Seeming to understand though, he hears the man chuckle and press another kiss against his shoulder blade, moving so that his body drapes over Brock’s like a protective blanket, nose tracing at jawline.

“Better?”

He only nods, tucking his hands under his chin before finally allowing himself to let his eyes close for a nap. 

Jack murmurs sweet soft things, he picks up one or two words but he knows there’s many more in there, tone light and dreamy. He usually hates this, post-coital cuddling and romantic endearments bullshit, but here with Jack it’s almost necessary.

It barely takes him two minutes before he passes out and doesn’t open his eyes until the sun’s waking them up again in the morning.

*****

He remembers the day Jack fucked his wrist up and acted like it wasn’t as bad as it might have been.

There’s a game in late November and Brock’s skating down the ice as quickly as he can after the puck, swerving around one defenseman trying to slow him down but he’s too far from it, his eyes dead ahead to see who’s up front. Jack’s in the wings and cutting hard in an angle to block a puck shot at their net. It hits his wrist and it looks weak, he barely sees Rollins features shift before he watches him skating into the guy and knocking him back on his ass with the brunt of his weight before he skates off like nothing happened. 

They change lines and by the time Brock makes it to the bench he can hear Jack swearing loudly in Polish with shit and fuck laced between for good measure. There’s something in there to do with whores and ass, the only Polish he can pick up through the verbal onslaught. 

Bucky skates by with a wide grin and hits his stick against the boards to get their attention, “Whoa! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth Rollins?!” 

“Fuck you!” 

Brock watches Barnes skate off cackling away and getting into position for the puck. He lightly bumps Jack’s shoulder as he’s looking at his wrist and grumbling, “You okay?”

“Fucking hurts.” Rollins replies but shakes his head when one of the guys comes over to have a look at it.

After the game, still in his gear, Brock finds Jack in the trainer’s room with an ice pack on his wrist while he’s sitting on an exam table and glaring at the wall. The second he sees him though, he sits up straighter and shakes his head.

“It fine, they say swell less if I ice.”

“Can I look anyway?” For extra measure Brock gives him his best stern captain’s stare. He perfected it enough to where Rollins will give in easily because he knows he can’t argue or smile about it unless he wants Brock to throw a hissy fit (which he will), he hopes he doesn’t take it as a joke this time around. 

Wordlessly Jack lifts up the ice pack with his lips tightly pursed together. Underneath his inner wrist and heel of his hand is a splotchy deep angry red and it’s nothing new when they’re both hockey players but it’s also _Jack_ and he winces sympathetically.

Rollins only nods in silence and shrugs absently like there isn’t much he can do, which is true. Brock can though, hooking his finger against the v-front of his boyfriend’s jersey when the ice pack returns back where it should be and gives him a kiss.

Jack’s a little startled for a second, mainly because they don’t usually do this anywhere but behind closed doors. They’re still unsure about making things public even though most of the guys know what’s up by this point and they’re a team, they know when to keep their traps shut. Jack’s good hand comes up to cup the line of his jaw and Brock only wraps his fingers into a tight fist around Rollins’ jersey. 

He likes their spontaneous semi-public kisses from time to time, snuck in at moments behind booths and sometimes in back alleyways outside of the bars, sometimes in the locker room or even in the showers. It’s not constant, it’s rare and too far in between yet when they do Jack touches him in a deliberate careful way like he’s made of glass; after hard hits and trying to keep the team working together, sometimes he just needs that. Their kisses follow with that same theme, always new and wanting, teeth and tongues exploring familiar mouths and remapping each other all over again. 

It gets them hot and hungry too quickly though and Jack generally tends to know the exact moment it happens, his hand tucking behind the nape of Brock’s neck to get him to stop as he leans their foreheads together. He smiles lightly as their noses brush and his eyes are half lidded. Their cheeks are a smooth pink that’s shifting to a red and they give each other a few seconds to stay in their intimate bubble together before they have to pull apart again.

He remembers it so well because it’s also the day he realizes that, despite his heavy reservations, he’s fallen in love with Jack and he’s pretty sure now that Jack's fallen in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I left it open to more chapters but if I do add to this (short little drabbles) it will be infrequent. Good news though, hockey season started so I may feel urges lol ;)


End file.
